by K. Gorman
Maybe he’s just not that good.
She shook her head, squeezing her eyes shut as a wet, heavier part of her hair fell against the side of her cheek and stuck there.
Oh, my God.
“There’s blood on my face, isn’t there?” she asked.
“It’s mostly in your hair,” he informed her.
She felt him walk past her, and goosebumps trailed in his wake as the draft tickled her skin.
This isn’t real.
But it felt so real.
She opened her eyes, sliding her gaze over until she found him squatting by Gerard’s corpse. The floor gleamed an alabaster white all around him, providing a keen contrast to the growing pool of blood that still drained from the body. A smell rose up, sickly sweet, and a dry, cardboard-like feeling settled into the pit of her stomach.
She watched as Roger slid his knife from Gerard’s neck and cleaned it on the dead man’s shirt. Once finished with that, he reached over to pick up Gerard’s phone and flicked the screen on.
“How did you find me?” she asked.
“Blind luck,” he said. “Underground people work in this building. They suspected it might have an Underground connection due to the sublevels. I think they simply wanted an easier way to walk home, but we’ve been exploring every uncharted access point we could find. This was our seventh.”
Okay, that was believable. And it would match more with the timeline, assuming he’d already been running the explorations before she’d run into him today. He would have started that as soon as the Water Mage had gone missing.
She still doubted this was real.
The blood caught her attention again. She noticed that some of it had smeared on the floor, as if Gerard had been semi-mobile when he’d fallen, which made sense. He wouldn’t have died straight away, but she bet he’d lost consciousness quickly.
Didn’t brain death take five minutes?
She swallowed hard. Then, when the image stayed with her and the rising panic inside her didn’t die down, she squeezed her eyes shut and counted. To twenty, this time. She forced her lungs to take slow breaths, and tried to ignore the smell of copper coming from the side of her face.
The psychiatrist had not prepared her for this.
“The shield’s down,” she said, latching onto the one thing she could think of to keep the hysteria back. “Aiden was taken. The Mages are in some sort of cell, I think.”
“I know,” Roger said.
A draft touched the drops of blood on her face, and her mind veered dangerously back to the large amount of red on the floor.
Repressing a shudder, she made a quiet gesture toward the man down. “Does he have handcuff keys?”
“No. I, however, have a spare set.”
Though her eyebrows rose, she decided not to question that as he produced them from a pocket, stood, and stepped in behind her. She flinched when his hand touched hers, but the contact was brief. With a slight pain from the angle, and the scrape of the key working the tumblers on either side of the metal—they were a straight pair, with a solid bar binding them together, as opposed to the chain ones she usually saw on television—the cuffs clicked free.
She rubbed her wrists as he stepped back, turning to him. “Thanks. You wouldn’t happen to know who runs this building, would you?”
“What do you mean?”
“Who would have a fancy office on the top floor?”
He was quiet for a moment. When she glanced up at him, she realized that he had turned his gaze to the middle distance, as if recalling something.
“Hugh Kauffmann is the CEO. We have lists of the managerial and supporting staff, though I don’t have them with me.”
Hugh Kauffmann. So that’s who The Boss was. Or, at least, The Boss so far as this building’s rental agreement went. She had a feeling Gerard and Ramos answered to someone else.
“Your boyfriend is here,” Roger said.
“What?” She snapped her head back up, a frown drawing down her eyebrows as she searched through her mind. “My boyfriend? Do you mean Chris?”
“Yes.”
She paused. “Why?”
“We could not let you storm the place alone.”
Her mouth slackened as he turned his back and moved up the hall, back the way he’d come.
Okay, that was an odd thing to say. I wasn’t planning on storming anything.
But she was curious as to where he—or, rather, the telepath, since she was pretty sure this was just some fucked up, conjured fantasy—was going with all this, so she followed him.
Besides, the growing pool of blood was attracting her attention again, and not in a good way. It was time to get away from it.
“Where is he? And what am I storming?”
Roger halted and turned, making her stutter to a stop. “Didn’t Aiden tell you to get the crystal and locate the others?”
Well, yes, technically, he had—but the last thing he’d told her was to get her and her family the hell away from Ryarne and not to go for the crystals.
And how would Roger know about that, anyway? She supposed he and Aiden could have exchanged that plan on the phone—he had sounded like he’d been planning it for at least a few hours, and Roger probably was the man in charge when Sophia wasn’t around…
But it seemed a bit too convenient for her.
When Chris jogged into view from around the next corner, she resisted the urge to raise her eyebrows.
Okay, this telepath really sucks at what he does.
Logically, anyway. Except for the story she was being fed, and the most recent quirk of Roger’s topic-switch—and of knowing things he probably shouldn’t—the illusion was flawless.
As if on cue, she felt the back of her hand prickle, and a subtle connection slipped against the back of her mind.
It wasn’t Water she felt, through the mark on her hand flickered a dim blue, but something else.
“What will you do?” Roger was looking at her again, studying her.
She thought back to what he’d said last, replaying the words over in her head.
They want me to lead them to the last crystal. Either because they don’t know where it is, or can’t access it and they think I’ll be able to get them inside.
Aware of his stare, and aware of Chris’ approach, she pulled her brows together as she thought, stalling for time.
Well, what’s the worst that can happen?
If she didn’t go for the crystal, they wouldn’t have any use for her—she’d likely be stuffed in the same cell as Aiden. If she did go for it, there was a chance she could absorb it before they got to it. It had, at the very least, shown a predisposition for protecting her and defending itself, if only against Aiden so far. And if she failed at that, she’d be back to Square One—stuffed in a cell with Aiden.
But, at least then, she would have tried.
That’s what her mother would have done. And, as she stood there, watching the illusion bring Chris closer to her, she realized that it’s what she would do.
“I’m going to get the crystal.” Her gaze flicked up to meet his. “Then, I’m going to come back here with it, channel its power, and burn this place to the fucking ground.”
Her earlier anger flickered back into the base of her mind, coloring her thoughts. When her lips tightened into a hard, grim-flavored grin, she could already imagine the Phoenix’s power in her grasp.
Compared to that, Aiden’s paltry flames were like candlewicks.
Roger’s lips parted in a slow, wicked smile, amusement dancing in his dark eyes. “If I may suggest an amendment to that plan—perhaps only the top floor, and make sure none of the Mages are imprisoned up there first. We still haven’t quite found them, after all.”
“If they took me down here to toss me into the cell, then it’s probably also down here,” she pointed out.
“Yes, but we don’t know if they’re all in the same place.”
“They are. I heard them talking.”
“Unti
l we have eyes on them, I’d appreciate not being burned alive.”
“All right, all right, I’ll keep it contained.” She pulled away from Roger and stepped toward Chris, who had slowed his approach.
By the look on his face, he’d just noticed the blood on her features. His eyes widened even more when he caught sight of Gerard’s body farther up the hall.
“Oh, my god. Mieshka, are you okay?”
She opened her mouth, then paused—when had he ever called her Mieshka? Yet another mistake on the telepath’s part.
Whatever.
“I’m fine. Come on, we’re going somewhere.” She glanced over to Roger. “I don’t suppose I could simply walk out the front door?”
He smiled. “In my experience, very few people stop someone covered in blood.”
Right. Plus, she was likely surrounded by a considerable number of armed soldiers that weren’t visible in the illusion.
She cocked her head back toward the hallway. “Hmm. Where’d you guys come from? Is there an easy way to the surface?”
“Yes.” Roger gave a quick nod. “He can show you.”
“Perfect.”
Ignoring the concern on Chris’ face as she moved close, she looped an arm around his and strode forward, dragging him back up the way he’d come.
“Come on. We’ve got a place to be.”
Chapter 28
A stone kicked away from the toe of Mieshka’s shoe, ricocheting off the coarse concrete wall on her left and skittering off into the dark. For the past thirty or so minutes, she’d been wondering if she were actually Underground, or if this were simply another part of the illusion the telepath had cooked up for her.
She thought the latter sounded more likely, considering an actual visit to the Underground would mean a chance of running into actual people from the Underground, and she assumed that the telepath would have a bit more trouble juggling his talents with so many minds to cover.
The tingling in her hand had settled into an occasional nuisance. The equivalent of lying in a field and being tickled by high grass whenever the wind blew. The marking itself didn’t show the purple glow from before, but she guessed that was another effect of the illusionist.
She could feel it now. As if something were whispering into the back of her mind, niggling itself into her thoughts.
It felt like, if she tried, she could reach out and touch it.
She didn’t try.
Chances were, she was surrounded by soldiers. Like she’d told Gerard—who was likely still alive and probably even among the soldiers that surrounded her—she did not want to get shot.
But the sensation never quite abated, only grew, and the whispers were beginning to turn into more than whispers. Thoughts and feelings followed them, along with brief glimpses of dim images.
For the past ten minutes, she’d found that she needed to take a few seconds, look at her surroundings, and ground herself in the walls that enveloped her—to bury herself in the illusion.
After a while, and quite a number of stairs that had her breathing hard, knees aching, and her shirt damp with sweat, Chris led her to an exit—some dirty, industrial-looking door that they’d had to shove open, making it scrape on a patch of smooth, stained concrete on its outside. After that, they’d emerged from the side of a small, semi-used storage house into a narrow, damp alley, and onto one of Ryarne’s Uptown streets.
When she looked around to get her bearings, she was surprised to recognize the buildings around her.
They were only a block away from the main station.
Which meant that, probably, they’d already known where the last crystal was.
Maybe they’d run into problems accessing it.
Cool, fresh air hit her face, and she ducked her head away as someone passed, turning her face away from the traffic on the street. She’d done her best to clean up in a washroom they’d found on their way out, but there was only so much one could do with paper towels, and there hadn’t been much time.
Chris fell back, no longer leading. She gave him a sidelong glance, examining him for flaws.
She didn’t find any. The band shirt was the same as she’d remembered from today. So were the jeans, with one knee worn a little bit more white than the other. Under his scruffy black hair, his eyes stared straight ahead. Then, they flicked to her.
“What’s wrong?” he asked.
She froze—but only briefly. “I’m glad you didn’t get caught. Back in the mall.”
He shrugged. “It’s not a big deal.”
The prickling deepened on her hand, sudden and strong enough that it felt like a hive of bees buzzing their wings along the transfer mark’s ink.
In the back of her mind, she felt the power strengthen.
“We should go,” she said, ducking her head and giving it a little shake. “There’s probably not much time.”
But, just as she turned to leave, the entire scene appeared to glitch.
The sky darkened, the tops of the buildings switching to dim gray shadows, with sunset gleaming off their tops—much later than she’d thought—and the sound of traffic roared into her ears so loud that it made her jerk.
For a brief, jarring second, the illusion slipped, and the real world crashed through.
She staggered as the magic sidelined her mind. Head bowed, hands cupping her forehead as she shook, she dragged in a slow, deep breath.
The illusion lifted back over her, feeling like a line of water rising over her head.
She breathed easier after.
“Jesus fucking Christ,” she muttered, wincing as she straightened. Her mind felt like it had been tossed into an ocean and fished out again.
“Are you okay?” Chris stepped forward, one hand taking her elbow to help her balance.
“Yeah, yeah.” She waved him off. “It’s just… I dunno, it’s been a long day, and I didn’t really sleep last night.”
All true, though that wasn’t what had happened—but the telepath seemed to have righted the illusion, so it was probably best to just go along with it.
Jesus, dude, is it that hard to keep feeding me these things?
Although, now that she thought about it, this was a fairly long illusion for him to maintain, especially if he kept having to scrape Chris’ details from her mind. She’d been specifically vague about Chris’ involvement in the mall, just in case that might break the spell. At this point, she needed him to keep it going more than they did.
Given time, after all, they could excavate the ship. And it wasn’t like it was hard to find. Robin had known about it, after all.
Coming to the station entrance, she leaned heavily on the rail as she dropped down the stairs, trusting neither her tired legs nor the telepath’s ability to keep the fabrication going.
If the illusion failed while she happened to be going down the stairs…
Well, they were made of concrete, and she wasn’t invulnerable.
Just hold on a little longer, Ramos. We’re almost there.
A train screamed onto a platform on her left as she wove through the crowd, one hand dragging Chris by his hand. Head down, she ignored the cacophony around her and followed the lines on the floor, aiming for the subsection near the green platform that would take her closer to the mall on Lanton Street where the memorial entrance sat.
As she moved, a light, dizzying sensation slipped through her, pooling in her stomach.
This is it. Whatever is going to happen, it’s going to happen soon.
She’d cut them off at the elevator, she decided. Find some logical excuse to go into it alone. Then, when she came within range of the Phoenix and the transfer shifted from the telepath’s power to the more-powerful Fire, she’d torch the place.
Well, she’d torch the place as soon as the door opened. Or afterward, if the transfer hadn’t quite hit by then. Even with her firepower, there’d likely be a shitload of guns pointed at her. The elevator might only hold a few, but it only took one bullet to kill.
; She knew that well enough.
God, am I really planning this? Is this really happening?
The tingle on the back of her hand was answer enough for her.
A few minutes later, they’d walked past the main part of the subway—Good, no one will get caught in the crossfire—and up the hall of abandoned, shuttered shops to the entrance of the memorial.
She paused at its stairs, glancing up at the decorated archway, and felt Chris stop beside her.
“The temple? Did he really hide his ship in the temple?”
“It’s not a temple. It’s a tomb.”
His gaze rounded on her. “What?”
Well, not quite, but it sounded good. Ignoring him, she stepped up the stairs and passed under the arch. Tile changed to stone, and dim light cloaked a hush over her as the mythology on the walls caught at her eyes. She touched a phoenix on the right-hand wall, for luck, then strode through the hall, across the outer-rim of the next chamber, and down into its center. The glow of names flickered around her, and the sound of their footsteps echoed in the whispery silence.
She took a breath and rounded her shoulders, striding for the back of the fountain that Aiden had accessed before. “Chris?”
He was right behind her. “Yeah?”
“I should go down there alone. The ship gets moody around strangers. Hell, it even burned Aiden last time, and he’s the fucking Fire Mage.”
She ascended the short set of stairs and turned, glancing back in time to catch Chris’ wide-eyed expression.
“What? No, I’m coming with you. What if there are people down there?”
Come on, Telepath. It’s probably easier on you to not animate Chris all the time.
She took a steadying breath. “Then, there are people down there. And—sorry—but if the ship and I can’t manage them, then I don’t see how you being there will help. We’d be fucked, anyway.” She hesitated. “I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
That last part, at least, was true. On the tiny, absurd chance that this were real, she didn’t want to burn Chris alive.
Oh, God, I’m going to kill people, aren’t I?
She shuddered.
Okay, let’s just not think about it.
Ignoring the worried, fearful look in his eyes, she pushed forward, stepped up to the black wall behind the fountain, and pressed her hand against its smooth, glassy surface.